


Take A Chance On Me

by zemph147



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Sex, Chocolate, Crack, Dog(s), Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Tequila
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-07
Updated: 2012-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-20 12:30:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zemph147/pseuds/zemph147
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony makes some poor, alcohol-influenced decisions. Steve gets a dog. Loki is bored.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chocolate

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so, hopefully this will be, like five chapters. There should be some Tony/Loki along the way. And maybe a puppy named Tony Bark. IDEK, if you like it, there should be more, but no promises on when, because I am a terrible person, and this is just a break for my brain.
> 
> There is no explicit consent in this, but nobody is an unwilling participant. Still, there is a potentially unhealthy level of non-communication, so if that squicks you, this is your warning.
> 
> I also make no promises about canon. Or spelling.
> 
> eta: the posting date is giving me attitude, sorry if notifications for this were weird

Tony is drunk.

Not as drunk as he could be. Far from the drunkest he's ever been, especially in these past—how long has Pepper been gone? Weeks? Months? Whatever. He is doing better. He can walk, for one. Almost a straight line. All the way down to the kitchen.

Okay, so this isn't the first time he's gotten lost in his own goddamn building. The one he designed with his own two hands. But it isn't his fault. After the Avengers all moved in, the whole energy changed. And without Pepper to ground him—

He considers turning around for one more drink, forgoing the cold pizza he so craves and replacing it with another scotch. Same amount of calories. Put him to sleep just as fast. 

But then he doesn't recognize this hallway at all. Could he have wandered into another corporate tower/super hero treehouse? Doesn't the Fantastic Four have something like this? 

“JARVIS?” he calls out, half startled by the sound of his own voice. “Hey, buddy, you out there?”

“You are still on the 59th floor, sir,” JARVIS says. “Same as five minutes ago.”

“And the kitchen?”

“Still straight ahead.”

Tony ignores the condescension in his AI's tone.

Why is he on the 59th floor? This isn't the penthouse. This hallway sucks, it's all dark and gloomy. Is there anything on the 59th floor? A kitchen, apparently. Hopefully with pizza. Please, let there be pizza.

Music floats out from a glowing doorway at the end of the hall. Tony stumbles towards it like a moth to a flame, weaving and bobbing, but with purpose. He slows as he gets close.

Is that fucking Abba?

Tony does recognize the community kitchen from the one time he ate in it, months ago, when he was still making an effort to befriend the team. But the stunning, sculpted-from-marble blond hopping around in his underwear is a new feature.

Steve looks good in black boxer-briefs. Like, better than Calvin Klein model, better than the best propaganda posters, good enough for angels to lick cake off his wash-board abs, good. 

He's cooking something. Baking, maybe, actually. There's flour smudged on his face, and a big mixing bowl. The music is far too loud, especially for Abba, _especially_ for Abba, but Steve is rocking out. He doesn't seem to know the words, but he's still singing, a strange 70's disco gibberish.

Steve can't sing. He's horribly off-key, with a sort of raspy tone that grates against the ears. He can't dance either. Instead he bobs his head from side to side, and sort of hops from foot to foot. Granted, he's dancing and baking at the same time, breaking eggs with extra pizazz and whisking to the rhythm. But for all his super abilities, Steve has no groove.

It's sort of cute, how he's trying to get his giant mass of muscle to move to the music. No, it's really cute. He's definitely enjoying himself, oblivious to the world around him, where anybody, especially inebriated Tony Stark, might discover Captain America's late night, half-nude, bad music bake-a-thon.

The song ends, and George Michael comes on.

This is not Tony's playlist. Jarvis shouldn't even know this music. Somehow, Tony knows this is Clint's doing.

Steve seems equally enthused by this song, though he knows just as few of the words, and even tries to swivel his hips a bit. He fails miserably, and kind of laughs to himself.

It might be the most ridiculous, adorable thing Tony has ever seen. 

Steve whisks too hard and splatters his naked chest with chocolate batter.

Tony must be dreaming.

Now it might be the hottest thing Tony has ever seen. Because in all those teenage masturbatory fantasies about the star-spangled man, licking chocolate off his perfect pecs never came up. Until now.

Tony instantly knows he is too drunk to be standing in this doorway. If he does not turn around right this second, his complete lack of self control will ruin everything.

But his dick is three steps ahead of his brain, making it pretty quick for genitalia, and he's making his presence known with a fake throat clearing and a smirk.

Steve freezes like he's been caught pissing on Roosevelt’s grave. He blushes from that perfect hairline all the way to his soft blond happy trail, leading the way down to—

“I'm sorry,” Steve blurts. Tony doesn't know what he's apologizing for, and doesn't frankly care, because shit, that blush is gorgeous and full body and he just needs to be touching, like, five minutes ago.

“Nobody is ever in here,” Steve continues, “And it's bigger than my kitchen, and I'm all out of vanilla, and I figure it was late enough, I didn't mean to disturb you, I usually wear pants too, I just—Tony?”

There is one particularly large glob of brownie batter slowly dripping down Steve's right pectoral, nearing his nipple, closer with every second. Tony can't take his eyes off it. That one chocolate smudge is overriding all the other voices in his head, the ones screaming _DRUNKDRUNKDRUNK!_ And _CAPTAIN-FUCKING-AMERICA!_

Steve's brow is furrowed in adorable confusion. He follows Tony's gaze, looks down at his own chest, and _giggles_.

“I'm good with the strength in the field,” he says, “have been for a while. But for some reason, I still mess up the little things. Hey, are you okay?”

He doesn't back away, which is concerning, because Tony is approaching him like a hungry predator, but he does blush all over again, like he'd forgotten just who interrupted him. Even when Tony definitely invades his space, gets close enough to smell his sweat and chocolate and, what is that, like, fucking baby powder? Steve still doesn't move.

“You're drunk,” Steve says, frown blooming on his face.

Tony licks his chest.

For a moment, they just stand there. Tony savoring how the best brownie batter he's ever had somehow becomes fucking better when combined with Steve's skin, and Steve just breathes all heavy and hot. Tony's never really noticed just how much taller Steve is, but when Steve breathes out through his nose, it hits right at Tony's hairline. 

“Um,” Steve says. He so fucking red, frown gone, just wide-eyed and bewildered and like a goddamn over-ripe tomato. 

Prince comes over the stereo.

“Who made this playlist?” Tony asks.

“Uh, Clint,” Steve says, and swallows. Tony makes a note to berate himself later for not being a bigger part of Steve's music education. Maybe there is still time. 

“This is really good brownie batter.” Tony licks his lips.

“It's, ah, fudge cake.” And for all the confusion and doubt in that voice, Steve still hasn't moved back, not at all.

There is no way this man is real.

Tony gets up on his tip toes and let's Steve try the batter for himself.

Steve hums, almost a squeal, and his body jolts like Tony's put a million volts through him. 

But he opens his mouth to Tony, welcomes the kiss, even if he doesn't really reciprocate. That's more than enough for Tony, who throws an arm around Steve's neck and pulls him down, deeper. Steve squeaks. _Squeaks._

Tony pulls back to breathe, and is caught off guard by how quickly Steve can look debauched.

“How you doin' there, champ?” Tony says. His hand is on the back of Steve's neck, but Steve's arms are dangling like giant wet noodles at his sides.

Steve blinks. His lower lip is shiny, and Tony darts in to nip at it.

“Okay?” Steve groans. 

If Tony had been sober, this would've been the moment for strategy, for tact, for maybe a little sensitivity around the man who was recently an icicle. 

But Steve is watching Tony's mouth. He's breathing like he's just been on a long run. He tips his head towards Tony's with intent, yeah, that's definitely intent. 

Tony jumps on Steve like he's climbing a fucking tree. Arms around his neck, legs around his hips. It's not the most ridiculous thing he's ever done drunk, but it's something he would only ever do drunk, ever even admit to doing while drunk. Steve, to his credit, gets both hands on Tony's ass like a pro, and holds him there like Tony's weight is nothing, which, to Steve, it probably is.

It's only once Tony's tongue is on a mission down Steve's throat that Tony realizes Steve is hard. Steel rod hard. This is both a miracle and a mystery, cause Tony's only halfway there, and he had a jump start watching Steve prance around like a drunk gorilla. Then again, maybe serum? And maybe Tony is drunker than he thinks he is.

Doesn't matter. Tony gets a hand between them, no problem, and fuck, Steve is big. He groans like he's been punched in the gut. There's the rest of Tony's erection. 

Steve whines and jerks his head back, leaving Tony searching for his mouth. His eyes are dazed, his mouth swollen, and Tony couldn't make a computer that could multiply how many times hotter this is than Tony's fantasies.

“Tony, I—“

But then Tony gets a good grip on Steve's dick, and Steve chokes. He stumbles back against the counter, still holding Tony, who is barely hanging on now, and mewls when Tony takes his mouth again.

Steve kisses sloppy, like a teenager, and he's making noises like nobody's ever touched him before, and Tony is just so done, this is just absolutely the most absurd thing that's ever happened to him, he's just fucking done.

Then he strokes Steve once and Steve comes. 

He gasps, sucking the air right from Tony's mouth, and almost drops him. Only Tony's stellar drunk reflexes keep him clinging to Steve's neck, while Steve's arms momentarily lose all ability to function.

And fuck, if that isn't the hottest thing Tony has ever seen. He's too old to come on the spot, but he comes pretty fucking close.

Steve, who could not possibly get any redder, discovers new shades of crimson.

“I—I'm sorry, I—“ he stammers.

Tony kisses him because there are just not words for how much Steve does not have to be sorry.

Somebody out there in the universe likes Tony. Not because Steve kisses back all tongue and lust, but because Tony manages to scramble away from Steve, manages to get halfway across the kitchen, before he throws up all over the floor.

It is very, very possible Tony is drunker than he thinks he is.

* * *

Tony wakes up in his own bed with one of those nightmare, suicidal headaches. But he does not smell vomit. Instead he smells chocolate.

Beside his bed is a plate of fudge cake.

_For when you feel better –- Captain Rogers_

Tony spends exactly one minute regretting.

Then he throws up again.


	2. Tequila

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets a dog. Tony drinks more. Loki moves in and goes clubbing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey-o Tony/Loki! 
> 
> This was a lot of words for not much porn. Porn next chapter. More Steve/Tony too, so if that's your bag, tune in next time. 
> 
> Tony is pretty much drunk all the time in this story, so keep that in mind. 
> 
> This is really cracky. I'm only half sorry.

Tony makes more of an effort to show up at team bonding time. A little bit more of an effort. He eats breakfast in the communal kitchen. Once. Twice. A few times a month. It's nice. Someone else cooks. It's usually pretty good.

Steve smiles, blushes, and says zilch about Tony's drunken stumble. Steve didn't say much to begin with, at least socially (he's a fucking chatter box on the comm during battle), and he keeps it that way. He doesn't even ask how the fudge cake was (fucking astonishing, the man could open a bakery and make a billion dollars). Things stay exactly the same between them. 

Except now Tony knows how glorious Steve is when he comes and has to jerk off before and after every time they are in close quarters together.

Whatever.

Tony doesn't stop drinking. That would be silly. And he doesn't stop drunkenly wandering the tower either, despite JARVIS's obvious irritation with repeated commands for directions. When he happens upon the communal kitchen, or the common room, or outside Steve's quarters, over and over and over again in the middle of the night, and doesn't encounter the Captain, he has an easy excuse.

Alcohol always makes things easier before making them harder. What's that Homer Simpson quote? “Alcohol! The cause of and solution to all of life's problems!” Yeah. That sounds about right.

* * *

Tony would've pegged Steve for a Golden Retriever kinda guy. All American, big, goofy dog, with a shaggy blond coat, floppy tail, and sloppy tongue. Kinda like Steve. Heh.

Maybe even a Lab. A Bernese Mountain Dog, if he was feeling adventurous. Even a Greyhound rescue wouldn't have been a surprise.

But no.

Tony comes down to breakfast for the fourth time that month and finds Steve cradling the most ridiculous little puppy. The thing looks like it might vanish between the bulk of Steve's bicep and his chest. It's a terrier mutt, short haired, sleek and black, with brown accents over its eyes and over its paws, sleepy little eyes, and weird little floppy ears. Bigger than a chihuahua, but not by much, no more than ten pounds soaking wet. Steve strokes one finger behind its ears, and the puppy grunts, a tiny little noise, and licks its tiny nose.

Thor, fucking Thor, squeals like a six-year-old girl.

Tony sits in the corner while earth's mightiest heroes take turns holding the puppy.

“They were all out of space at the shelter,” Steve says, “and the guy said they might put some of them down. This fellow was the last one, and I just figured it couldn't hurt to put a roof over his head.”

Bruce claps Steve on the shoulder. “Good on you, man.”

“How old is he?” Natasha asks, holding the puppy up with one hand to check its undercarriage. 

“One year old,” Steve says. “Apparently that's as big as he's gonna get. Potty trained, neutered, and he's got some kind of computer chip in him.” He looks at Tony, who chooses to scowl into his coffee. 

“You know, nobody asked me if a dog could come live in my building,” Tony says while the puppy gives Thor a goddamn tongue bath.

The whole team turns and glares at Tony. Except Steve, who seems genuinely concerned.

“I'm sorry, I didn't even think,” he says. “That was stupid, I'm sorry Tony. I'm sure we can find another home for him.”

Natasha squints at Tony, a look he knows means if you take this puppy from Steve, you will never wake up again.

“Whatever, it's fine,” Tony says. “I'm just more of a cat person.”

Steve beams.

“What's his name?” Natasha asks sweetly, like she hasn't just threatened death with her eyes. 

There's Steve's blush. Tony's misses it every time they're apart.

“Uh, well, he's been in the shelter for a while, and he's gotten used to the name they gave him,” Steve says. “I don't really want to rename him.”

“Is it something stupid, like Wolverine?” Clint asks.

“It's Tony,” Steve says sheepishly. 

“Of course it is,” Tony mutters. 

“Aw, well, we won't change it,” Bruce says. He's got the puppy in his arms, and his voice is rapidly becoming the exact opposite of Hulk voice. “We won't, won't we? Won't we?” He's talking to the dog.

“We're gonna have to come up with some way to distinguish though,” Steve says. “Just so, you know, if we yell at one, the other one doesn't get sad.”

“I'm not going to get sad if you yell at me for pooping in shoes,” Tony says, but they ignore him.

“Tony Two seems like the obvious route,” Bruce says. “Or Little Tony. Tony the second. Tony Redux.”

“I feel like we're thirteen and naming Tony's penis,” Clint says.

Natasha gasps. “Oh my god,” she says in a whisper so serious, Tony thinks maybe Bruce is about to hulk out and eat the damn creature.

“Spit it out,” Clint says, poking her in the ribs.

“Tony Bark.”

Bruce laughs first, but then they all dissolve. The fucking dog starts to howl with them.

Tony finishes his coffee in one big gulp.

“I hate you all so much,” he says.

* * *

The stupid name sticks.

For a while, everybody but Tony thinks it's hilarious to pretend they're mixing up human and canine.

“God, Tony, way to piss all over my shoes.”

“Tony's got somebody's dildo again!”

“Man, Tony, get that used tampon out of your mouth!”

“Tony, stop humping my leg.”

Unfortunately, this is only funny to everyone else for fucking forever. 

Tony Bark is a little jerk. He is most definitely not potty trained. He ruins two Armani suits before Tony bans him from the penthouse, and still the little brat gets in. Tony brings home his first one night stand in months, a gorgeous, young, blond super model, and she leaves because there is dog shit. Under the sheets. In a perfect little pile. _Under the sheets._

“The little guy is actually a lot like you,” Bruce says one day in the lab. “He's cute and he knows it, and he's a little jerk and he knows it. He knows just how to play it to get what he wants.”

“Yeah?” Tony says, prodding Bruce with a piece of machinery. “You think I'm cute?”

The night comes when Tony Bark pees all over a Stark phone prototype, the only prototype, (and how he's getting into the lab is beyond Tony, because there is no puppy on the security cams, unless JARVIS is somehow hiding these secret puppy missions, which, come on) and Tony is ready to kick the little turd out on his adorable little ass.

He finds Steve in the TV room. Napping.

He's seen Steve awake at all hours and never seen him look tired, except in that weary, weight of the world kind of way. And he's never seen him sleep.

Surprise, surprise. Steve, sleeping, is stunning. 

And in the center of his enormous chest, curled into a tiny ball, naps Tony Bark.

Tony has a sudden urge to have children. He shakes this off as quickly as he can, because Jesus fucking Christ what is wrong with him. 

That night he drinks until he blacks out.

Then he tries to be a little nicer to the dog. Just a little. He doesn't stop whining as loudly as possible to anyone who will listen about what a burden it is to have a puppy in the house. But sometimes, when no one else is looking, Tony Stark lets Tony Bark kiss his face.

* * *

When Fury calls an Avengers meeting in the tower common room, the one with the oversized TV and too many couches, Tony figures it's about public appearances, or costume design, or all those rumors about what exactly happens when a bunch of beautiful people in spandex shack up together. You know, the kind of things that calls for the comfort of a plush leather couch. Villains are best discussed in hard-backed, industrial chairs. Gossip takes cuddling.

So when he's got his bare feet tucked under Bruce's thighs, and a mug of spiked coffee warming his hands (And maybe he's licking his lips seductively at a bright pink Steve, still sweaty from the gym, because Tony's had a few today), the last thing he expects is for Loki to walk in.

Thor leads him by the hand like a school child. It's been almost a year since Loki threw Tony out a window and they send him back to Asgard for some otherworldly fire and brimstone, and Loki looks almost normal. Thinner, for sure, more pale too, if that's even possible. His long black hair is pulled back in a tight, neat bun, and he's dressed in regular, human clothes. Hipster clothes, really. Tight black jeans and a plain white v-neck t-shirt.

If Loki didn't look so damn miserable, he might look _good_.

Thor looks like mom just told him his girlfriend could spend the night. He's holding Loki's hand, and they look like a deranged, buff, Norse version of the little girls from The Shining. 

“Listen up,” Fury says, like everybody was chattering instead of staring and gaping. “Nobody here is going to like this, but we are operating under orders from beyond me. You have a new house mate. I have been guaranteed that all his magical ability has been stripped from him, and Thor assures me he can and will be responsible for all supervision. As much as I hate to admit it, this building and its inhabitants add up to one of the most secure locations at our disposal.”

“Okay, so does nobody remember that I actually own this place?” Tony says. “And inviting everybody for a slumber party did not mean bring your pets and villains and psychopath siblings?”

Loki stares at the ground. Thor grips his hand tighter.

“Your cooperation is noted and appreciated,” Fury says like Tony's just rolled out the welcome wagon. “The first sign of trouble, we'll pull him out. But after extensive testing and talks with the authority in Asgard, I'm pretty sure it won't be a problem.” He smirks slightly. “He wouldn't be here if he wasn't harmless.”

“Brethren, please,” Thor says. “My brother has been through much hardship since the times of our battle for the Tesseract. He has been punished and repents. I ask you to open your minds and hearts to a changed being. For me.”

Natasha visibly squirms, and Tony can feel Bruce's thighs tensing. Steve seems like he's actually considering forgiveness, brow furrowed. It's cute. When he glances at Tony, Tony can't help but wink. That derails whatever is going on in Steve's head.

Clint gets up and leaves the room.

Tony finishes his coffee, which was really mostly whiskey, and stands.

“He's welcome to stay, but I'm not gonna bother keeping him alive.”

“Fair enough,” Fury says. “Any more questions?”

Tony Bark comes sprinting into the room like his tail is on fire. He skids to a stop at Loki's feet and sniffs his ankle curiously. A low growl erupts from his tiny furry chest. Loki shifts back, nose wrinkled.

“Tony,” Steve hisses, clapping his hands. “Tony, c'mere.”

Tony Bark looks up and wags his tail at his master. He bounds across the room and into Steve's lap.

Loki looks at person Tony, looks at Steve and the dog, then back at Tony, squinting. A laugh aborts in his chest, coming out as a snort. 

Fury sighs, looking at Tony Bark like the pup was birthed from hell. 

“Right. Meeting adjourned.” 

* * *  
Turns out living with Loki isn't so bad, especially since he's been stripped of all his godliness. Especially because Tony never actually sees him. _Especially_ because Loki is potty trained.

“I mean, I don't feel bad for the guy, because, c'mon,” Bruce says in the lab. “But he just sulks in Thor's apartment. He's worse than Steve.”

“What do you mean, worse than Steve?”

“Well, at least Steve breaks up the sulking with drawing and baking.”

“Since when is Steve sulking?” Tony asks, sliding away from his computer.

“Since all his friends are dead,” Bruce says. “C'mon, Tony. Kid's got some serious fish-outta-water issues.”

Leave it to Bruce to be all about feelings. 

“You're not helping either,” Bruce adds. “You're going to give him a sexuality crisis on top of everything else.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Tony says, throwing a wrench in the air and catching it.

“So when he had to leave the kitchen the other day because you were eating that red, white, and blue popsicle like a porn audition, that was just you being oblivious?”

Tony only vaguely remembers this. There might have been some tequila involved.

“I just like that lemon-lime flavor,” Tony says with as much innocence as he can muster (not much).

“I like it here Tony,” Bruce says, “and you're a big part of that. It's because you cut me a break when I really needed one. So, you know, maybe do the same for the Captain.”

Of course Bruce would make Tony feel guilty about a little harmless flirting.

“And cutting him a break does not involve jumping him,” Bruce adds.

Okay, really guilty.

* * *  
Four gin and tonics later (heavy on the gin, nix the tonic), Tony is ready to make it up to Steve. It's way late, and the tower is quiet with little sleeping Avengers. Tony checks the gym and the common room, but no Steve. He knocks on Steve's door too, like a gentlemen, but no answer. 

The idea of the communal kitchen brings hope, even if the million other times Tony has wandered there since their encounter have proved fruitless. And sure enough, there is music in the hall outside. Harry Belefonte, to be exact. Better than Abba, at least. Tony's heart races, and it's not his only body part taking interest, because shirtless baking has become masturbation fantasy number one.

There is somebody in the kitchen. Somebody without a shirt. But it isn't Steve.

Loki is standing at the counter. In front of him is a giant jar of peanut butter. Beside that is a package of Twizzlers. Loki is taking the long, red licorice, dipping it in the jar, and eating it like this is the greatest combination ever invented.

He's also wearing only a very tight pair of black leather pants. And a whole lot of body glitter.

It's just so surreal that Tony can't back away.

“Uh, late night snack?” Tony tries. 

Loki glances up, but if Tony's presence bothers him, he doesn't show it.

“Of all the absurd things you humans do to your food, processing sugar is surely the most glorious,” he says. 

Tony comes into the kitchen and starts opening cabinets, like he's looking for something besides half naked Captain America.

“You sound like a stoner,” Tony says. He pauses. “You're not actually stoned, are you?”

Loki scoffs, scooping up a particularly large blob of peanut butter. “Certainly not.”

Tony finds a bottle of tequila hidden behind some baking soda. It's like finding buried treasure.

“So what's with the fairy sparkle,” Tony says, setting the liquor bottle on the counter. “Trying to bring the magic back?”

Loki looks down at his bare chest, sighs, and rolls his eyes.

“It's like a contagion,” he says, exasperation in his voice. “It only takes one carrier, and the whole population is infected. I will never be able to remove it.”

Tony finds a lime in the fridge. It's like fucking Christmas morning in this kitchen right now. When he stands up, it hits him just what Loki has been doing.

“I'm sorry,” Tony says, “but did you go out clubbing?”

Loki chews and swallows a big bite of licorice and peanut butter. 

“I may be banished, powerless, and a prisoner,” he says, “but I will not be bored.”

Tony just stares at him for a second. Loki tugs a bite off a Twizzler and flashes his teeth at Tony.

“And the calypso?” Tony asks, gesturing to the ceiling to signal the music.

“Apparently a house favorite. Clint's mix?” Loki shrugs. He reaches back into the peanut butter jar. 

“Okay, stop.” Tony grabs his wrist. “This, what you're doing right now, it's disgusting. You are not a blazed Hampshire freshman. You are doing flavor combinations wrong.”

Loki scowls, but takes his hand out of the peanut butter jar. 

“Here,” Tony says, fishing salt and shot glasses from another cabinet. “Rinse your mouth out.” He points to the sink.

In a twist ending, Loki does as he's told. He drinks the water from the tap, swishes, and spits. Tony slices the lime, and pours two large shots of tequila. 

“Lick right here,” Tony says, gesturing at the webbing between his thumb and index finger. Loki takes a long, careful lick on his own hand, eyes never leaving Tony's. Tony ignores how hot it suddenly is in the room. He pours salt on the wet spot on Loki's hand, then his own.

“It goes salt, shot, lime. Hold the lime like this, yeah. Ready?”

Loki nods.

Salt. Tequila. Lime.

Tony whoops, because damn, that is some fine liquor. Loki scrunches up his face around the lime, but swallows dutifully.

“Good,” Tony laughs. He almost goes in for a high five, but then thinks better of it. “Better than Twizzlers and peanut butter?”

Loki removes the lime and licks his lips. “I suppose.” He eyes Tony carefully. “But that is not how I was taught to consume tequila.”

“Somebody else taught you to take tequila shots?” Tony actually feels a little hurt. It must be his outrageous blood alcohol level. 

“Shall I show you?” Loki says, arching one eyebrow. 

That's when Tony knows this is about to turn bad. He's still pretty far from stopping it though. Because, man, Loki is pretty. All slim muscle, broad shoulders, and tight waist. The glitter is even kinda working for him. Sure, he could still be lethal. That's not it though. It's not. It's not at all.

Some of Pepper's last words to him were definitely not “You get off on the danger, Tony.” 

“Another way to take a tequila shot?” Tony says. “I have certainly never heard of such a thing.”

Loki lifts him onto the counter top easily. All that skin and bones is deceiving, dude is _strong_. He pushes Tony back and rucks up his shirt. Not far enough to expose the arc reactor, but far enough for Tony to be exposed.

Loki lays out a trail of salt parallel to Tony's happy trail, fits a wedge of lime between Tony's teeth, and sets another full shot on Tony's chest. The glass clinks against the reactor. 

Before Tony can say anything, Loki is licking a long, slow stripe up his stomach. Fuck, why is his tongue so _long_? Tony's at half mast by the lime Loki lifts the shot glass with his lips and downs it. Then he bends over Tony's face, eyes never leaving Tony's, and sucks the lime from his lips.

“You're right,” Loki says when he pulls the lime from his mouth, face still inches from Tony's. “This is more interesting than Twizzlers and peanut butter.”

Tony slides off the counter top, returning his shirt to an appropriate level of coverage. He feels a little dizzy.

Loki puts away the peanut butter.

“Don't I get another drink too?” Tony says. “You know, I don't mind the glitter taste.”

Loki puts the cutting board in the sink and starts to wash it. He's surprisingly considerate for a villain. He looks Tony up and down, and licks his lips.

“I'm told you have something of a talented tongue,” Loki says. “It might be a shame to waste it on my stomach.”

The Banana Boat song starts on the speakers.

Tony is so done.


	3. RHPS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not all of Loki's magic is gone. The team watches Rocky Horror Picture Show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poooooorn. Loki gender swapping silliness. Tony/Loki, then Tony/Steve.

Tony doesn't really believe in the idea of being “skilled” at sex. There's knowing the basic mechanics, and where everything is, but past that, people are different. Being good in bed is about listening, watching, and responding appropriately. And chemistry, of course. 

Tony loves sex. He loves seeing other people experience pleasure, and he loves knowing he put that pleasure there. That's why he's got the Casanova rep. Because even when he doesn't care about the other person, he cares about making them feel good. 

Nobody just hops into bed with someone for the first time, does X, Y, and Z, and produces toe-curling, sobbing, blackout orgasms. Not even Tony.

Loki is apparently the exception to this rule.

So, Loki's got the god thing going for him. Even without the magic, that must count for something. It has to, because Loki's got his fingers in Tony's ass for all of thirty seconds, bites just under Tony's right ear, and says in that perfect, velvet voice,

“You should pray your walls are thick, unless you wish your friends to hear just how loudly I can make you beg for it. Just how loudly I can make you scream my name.”

“Loki!” Tony cries out like a goddamn puppet.

His climax rips through him like he's thirteen-years-old again and just discovered his father's archive photo of Steve with his shirt off.

When Tony can see again, Loki is trying to pout, but his smug grin is ruining it. They're on Tony's bed, Tony in just his t-shirt, and Loki still wearing those impossible leather pants. 

“I would have guessed stamina might be one of your bragging points,” Loki says. “How disappointing.”

“Hey,” Tony says, “I'm only human. And I've had about seventeen drinks since nine this morning. And I'm not as young as I used to be.” He looks down at his come-covered front. “And I'm guessing you're not playing fair.”

Loki shrugs. “I should hope this doesn't mean you're finished for the night.” He does coy perfectly.

“First off, I think we established I have a lot more to offer than just my dick. Second, give me like, a half hour. Maybe. Third, there is Viagra somewhere in this penthouse, so if it comes to that—“

Loki slaps a hand over Tony's mouth.

“You enjoy the sound of your own voice far too much,” he says. Then he gets off the bed and begins to wiggle out of his pants. They are tight and leather, so it takes him a minute.

“You gonna shut me up?” Tony says the second Loki's hand moves away.

“The best way I know how,” Loki says, finally tugging off his pants. He's gorgeous naked, in this kind of ethereal way, all glowing and sparkling. Loki's hard, his cock curved beautifully away from his body. He crawls over Tony, first stopping to kiss him, hot and fast and _why is his tongue so long_ , then continuing forward until he can straddle Tony's face.

“Um, if we rearrange, I might be able to, you know, show you a little more what all the ladies are talking about,” Tony says. He hasn't got much leverage flat on his back, though he can grope at Loki's ass, which he does. 

“Oh, I find fellatio to be something of a bore,” Loki says. His eyes flutter shut and he takes a deep breath.

“Do you want me to eat your ass or something? Because I'm happy to do that, but I'd really prefer shower time first, just cause, you know, bacteria. And with you, it might be like, space bacteria, because who knows what's it Asgardian fecal matter, and that's just not a discussion I need to have with a SHIELD doctor—“

That's when Tony gets a face full of cunt. 

The thick scent of woman makes his cock stir again, which, okay, is pretty impressive. But that doesn't stop him from trying to scramble back on the bed, because that is most definitely magic that just gave Loki a pair of perfect breasts and soft, delicate features, magic that could kill Tony in a post-coital bliss.

The gorgeous woman above him just rolls her (his?) eyes. She grabs his hair and guides him back to where she wants him.

“They stripped the dangerous magic,” Loki says. “Shape shifting never killed anyone. You don't mind, do you? A woman's body is simply superior for this activity.”

Tony's mind is basically short circuiting, so he just grabs Loki's ass, pulls her down, a proves the legends about his tongue. 

Soon enough, Loki is clutching the headboard and shuddering in Tony's mouth. 

“That's very good, Stark,” she says, shake in her voice betraying exactly how good. Tony groans beneath her, and in seconds, she's coming against him. His face is soaked with her, and sure enough, he's hard again.

He wonders briefly if Loki will let him fuck him like this, or if the lady thing is only for oral sex. Loki regains composure with a couple deep breaths, and slides back from Tony's mouth. Tony blinks, and Loki is a man again, still completely erect. 

“So that was different,” Tony says, wiping his mouth. Loki flashes a smile, and he's flush all over. Tony can't help the pride that swells, because debauching Loki, debauching a god, that's a pretty great accomplishment. 

“You seem like an open-minded enough individual,” Loki says. He's stroking himself now, eyes heavy-lidded, smirking down at Tony with a special breed of deviant hunger.

“Yeah. Oh yeah. Yes,” Tony says as Loki reaches back and grab Tony's dick. “So, uh, this shape shifting—just between genders?” His voice squeaks a little as Loki twists and pulls.

Loki's eyes flare briefly with amusement. Then, right in front of Tony's eyes, his whole body is shifting. Bigger, broader, tanner, blonder. Before Tony knows it, Steve is straddling him, eyes dazed, skin sweat-slick, cock hard and dripping.

“Like this?” The voice is still Loki's, the smile the spreads across Steve's face too confident. 

For a second, it's ridiculously tempting. That glorious ass scoots back and rubs against Tony's cock, and Tony knows it would be incredible to slip inside, to fuck Steve hoarse. He'd probably come three times before Tony was done, each time shooting across Tony's chest. The thought alone brings Tony awfully close to his second orgasm of the evening.

But that smirk shatters the image. It's like Loki stole Steve's skin.

“That's okay,” Tony says, ignoring the way his breath catches. “You were good before.”

Steve-Loki pouts, but transforms back.

“Dull,” Loki says. “Your captain is asking for it.”

Tony sits up quickly, grabbing Loki's shoulders, and flips them on the bed. He pins Loki's wrists to the mattress. Loki raises his eyebrows and grins.

“You want me to go give it to him instead?” Tony asks. 

Loki laughs and kisses Tony filthily.

Tony comes fifteen minutes later with Loki's cock up his ass. It takes everything he's got not to think about Steve.

* * *  
Tony considers telling Fury or Thor or anybody about Loki's retained magical ability. Because shape shifting is not harmless, it's a serious security threat.

He has another drink instead. 

Close enough.

* * *

For all his domesticity, Loki is still the god of mischief. A mischief that starts to plague the tower with annoying frequency. Little stuff, stupid stuff, but obnoxious all the same.

Sugar in Tony's coffee is actually salt. There are slugs in all the showers. A heard of cows appears in the penthouse on the day Pepper is supposed to visit.

They go to a little downtown bar instead to discuss the paperwork she brought with her.

“I love you Tony,” she says, “but I am so glad I'm not living in that mad house.”

She smiles and flirts and thinks they're on their way to friendship, but fuck, that hurts a whole hell of a lot more than Tony will ever admit to anyone, ever. 

He comes home drunk and lets Loki blow him in the common room, where anybody could walk in and be witness to Tony's poor decision making. For someone who doesn't care to be on the receiving end of a blow job, Loki is remarkable at giving, and Tony yells way too loud when he comes. It may or may not be Steve's name he calls out, but if Loki cares, he doesn't say anything.

* * *

Movie night was supposed to be Mary Poppins (they're working through Steve-friendly films), but when the painted red lips of the Rocky Horror Picture Show DVD menu pop up, nobody suggests they change it, or even questions why the DVD was mislabeled. Loki avoids these group activities like the plague, but somehow, Tony knows he's responsible for the change in feature. How Loki even knows what the Rocky Horror Picture Show is, Tony has no idea.

“Oh, this is so much better than Mary Poppins,” Clint says, and of course this would be one of Clint's favorites. 

“I guess it's still a musical,” Bruce says. But he's smiling that soft, secret smile. Tony would bet money Bruce had a run as Frankenfurter in college, but doesn't say anything.

“Um, what's it about?” Steve asks. Natasha is next to him, Tony Bark curled up on her lap, and she pats Steve's thigh.

“It's about aliens,” she says. Clint snorts. “And it has that pirate in it from Muppet Treasure Island.”

Steve's face brightens considerably. 

* * *  
Even after everyone else goes to bed, even after Natasha puts Tony Bark up in his crate, Steve stays put on the couch. Tony moves over to be next to him, offers him the bottom of the bottle of rum Tony has been nursing. 

Steve takes it, even though they both know it won't do any good.

“That wasn't about aliens,” Steve says finally. Tony half-hopes the pink on his cheeks is permanent.

“Sorry if we scandalized you,” Tony says. He trails a finger along Steve's thigh absentmindedly. “I've actually been meaning to apologize about scandalizing in general. You know, offending your delicate sensibilities.”

Steve watches Tony's finger trace patterns along his inseam. “My sensibilities aren't _that_ delicate. I was in the military. Am in the military. I hardly have virgin ears.”

“Good,” Tony says. Steve smells delicious. It takes all of Tony's focus not to lick his neck.

“I've never seen anything like that, though,” Steve says. “I mean, I don't even understand what happened. But I sure feel bad for Rocky.”

Steve would sympathize with the big, buff blond. Falling victim to the sexually aggressive mad scientist. Oh god, is Rocky Horror Picture Show really applicable to Tony's life?

“The plot isn't what's important,” Tony says. “The whole point of the movie is basically Tim Curry dressed like that. And you can go see it in a theater and throw stuff at the screen. It's fun, we'll do it sometime.”

Steve doesn't look like that sounds fun at all.

“Long story short,” Tony says, “I'm sorry if I'm giving you crisis.”

“What?” Steve's smile is amused. “I'm not in crisis.”

“Good,” Tony says, and kisses him.

“Oh,” Steve says, all soft and sexy, when Tony pulls back. 

“You sure? No freakouts or meltdowns?” Tony asks.

Steve nods slowly, eyes never leaving Tony's lips.

He groans when Tony crawls onto his lap and strips off Steve's shirt. God, why is he so hot? Shit, and Steve's hard already, Tony can feel it through his jeans.

“This is not a criticism,” Tony says, palming Steve's crotch. “But you have the most responsive dick I've seen since I was a teenager.”

Steve is so red, and at some point in the past minute, his hair has gotten mussed. He looks like he's already gone a round, but the look he's giving Tony is all about more, more, more.

“It's the serum,” Steve says, very quietly, almost a whisper. “One of the side-effects.”

Tony quirks an eyebrow and squeezes Steve's cock. Steve whines and grits his teeth, big square jaw flexing.

“Yeah? Tell me about these side effects.” There's no more resisting it, he goes ahead and licks Steve's neck. He tastes like chocolate chip cookies. How this is even a real person, Tony has no idea.

“Ah, well, I get—you know—really fast. Um. Oh.”

Tony nips at his earlobe while simultaneously opening Steve's jeans. Say anything you want about Tony's drinking, he almost never looses the ability to multi-task. He gets Steve's dick out, flushed and hard against his perfect, naked stomach.

“What else?” Tony whispers in Steve's ear.

“I'm just very, ah, responsive?” Steve huffs out a long breath when Tony grips him at the base of his cock. “I can't really control—it's overwhelming—oh, Tony.”

Steve's hands are bunched on either side of them, but now one fists the back of Tony's t-shirt, not to take it off, but just to hang on. 

Tony sucks Steve's lower lip and gives his dick one good, firm stroke. “That all?”

A moan slips from deep in Steve's chest. “I—I can go again,” he chokes out. “Right away, I can go again.”

His hips cant under Tony's, and he throws his head back, eyes squeezed shut. Tony strokes him three more times, and Steve groans and comes all over his stomach and Tony's hand. It's just an unbelievable sight, and Tony wonders briefly if this is simply the best wet dream he's ever had.

But then Steve's kissing him, and it's too sloppy for a dream. It's all real, clumsy tongue and clacking teeth and sweaty forehead.

“Jesus,” Tony whispers. “So you're telling me I can just keep going? And you'll come again?”

Steve gazes at him with sky blue eyes, clouded with desire and nerves and apprehension. 

“Is that okay?” Steve says.

Holy fucking shit. 

Tony slams his mouth against Steve's, taking over the kiss, sucking and nipping and curling his tongue between Steve's lips and dragging a whine from the bigger man. He starts working Steve's dick again, and the whine stutters, tripping over itself.

“You have no fucking clue,” Tony says, panting against Steve's mouth, “how goddamn perfect you are.”

Steve's mouth hangs open. His cock is slick with his come, but it doesn't soften. He thrusts into Tony's fist with little twitches of his hips, almost unconscious, and his hands are now both twisted in Tony's shirt. Tony grips him hard and jerks fast, watching Steve come completely undone under his touch. 

“You're really gonna come again,” Tony says after a few minutes, tinged with disbelief.

Steve whines in response. Tony bends over and mouths Steve's chest, tongue sliding against the curves of his pecks, over one nipple and then the other. He sinks his teeth into the left one.

Steve shouts his name, and god bless Dr. Erskine, blows a whole 'nother load across his stomach. A spurt of it even hits Tony's chin where it's pressed against Steve's chest. The guy convulses like he's being electrocuted, and almost throws Tony from his lap, except he's clutching Tony's shirt like if he let's go, he's gonna lose him forever.

When Steve opens his eyes again, he catches sight of the spunk on Tony's face. His face goes from bliss to horror in half a second.

“I'm so sorry,” he sputters. “That's—I'm—I didn't mean—“

Tony wipes his chin with the back of his hand, then licks his hand clean.

Steve looks like Tony just took off his own head, tossed it in the air, and put it back on.

“Could you come again?” Tony asks breathily. 

“Uh, I don't know,” Steve says, mind clearly still stuck on Tony eating jizz. Plus, you know, orgasms. “In theory.”

“Will you go into crisis if I go down on you?” Tony asks. 

“What?”

“Perform fellatio. Suck your brains out through your dick. Put my mouth where the sun don't shine until you come down my throat. Bloooow job.”

Steve moves his mouth like he means to talk, but nothing comes out. 

“I'm sorry, but what military were you part of?” Tony asks. “Because every other U.S. soldier I know is all about cock sucking.”

“It's just—I never—“

Tony grins, because this man is obviously a sex robot sent to destroy him. Then he slides back, onto the floor, and kneels between Steve's legs.

“Welcome to the future, Cap.” 

It takes less than five minutes for Steve to start tugging at Tony's hair.

“Tony, Tony, I'm gonna, you gotta—“

Tony bats Steve's hands away. He reaches between Steve's legs, past his balls, and prods very gently at his entrance.

Steve squeezes Tony's shoulders so hard there will be bruises for days, fucking cries out loud enough for anyone on the floor to hear, and comes in Tony's mouth.

Tony swallows and Steve groans, long and low. 

Then Steve grabs Tony, with a surprising amount of strength for a man whose just come three consecutive times, hauls him onto the couch, and straddles him.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, chest heaving. 

“If you don't mind where my mouth has just—“

Steve licks the traces of himself out of Tony's mouth. His hand is down Tony's pants in two seconds, and what he lacks in dexterity, he makes up for in enthusiasm. 

Tony sinks his teeth in Steve's neck when he comes so he doesn't wake the whole damn tower. 

Steve collapses on top of Tony. This is cute and warm and nice for about thirty seconds, after which Tony realizes he can't breath with that much muscle mass crushing his lungs. He flails pitifully until Steve scrambles back.

“Oh geeze, sorry, I just—“

“Don't you dare apologize,” Tony says. “For anything. Ever again. Ever.”

Steve sags back against the arm of the couch. He's covered in come and sweat and sucking in breath like he won't ever get enough oxygen again. His cock is finally going limp between his legs. Tony feels similarly wrecked. He slumps against Steve's shin and smooths a hand through his hair where Steve pulled at it.

“That was ridiculous,” Tony says. “You're not human.”

Steve huffs a laugh. He scoops his t-shirt off the floor and wipes futilely at his front. 

“But seriously,” Tony says. “No gay panic?”

“If I was gonna panic about homosexuality, I would've done it after that movie,” Steve says.

He grins, and it's just the best thing Tony has ever seen. He wiggles until he can reach Steve's mouth and kisses him.

“But, um, we are still in the common room,” Steve says, pulling away. “And I could really use a shower?”

“I have a hot tub,” Tony blurts. “With jets. And loofahs. And bubble bath. It's a huge mess with the jets, bubble overload, but it's fun. Come on, you're coming with me. Bath time. JARVIS, erase the last hour of tapes and get the water warm.”

“Yes, sir,” JARVIS says. Steve starts at the AI's voice. But when Tony tucks them both back into their pants, wipes them as clean as they're going to get, and stands, Steve takes his hand.


End file.
